


Man and Wife

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Series: Paternoster Row: the spinoff [21]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2432846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With time to kill as Clarence DeMarco waits to stand trial, Jenny and Vastra take the case of a woman seeking a divorce. But the case proves trickier to unravel than they had expected, and there will be a confrontation before all's said and done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man and Wife

**Author's Note:**

> See below for trigger warnings.

“Mrs. Harcourt to see you,” Strax announces. His eyes narrow. “I must say, I don't trust her. She refused a grenade!”

“Send her in, Strax.” Vastra waves her arm drearily as Jenny approaches with tea and sandwiches. She smiles politely, hoping for a nice, simple case—pursuing Clarence DeMarco had taken its toll, and the waiting for his prosecution was hardly any better. “How may we help you, Mrs. Harcourt?”

“I wish to divorce my husband,” Mrs. Harcourt says brusquely. “And please, call me Regina.”

“Of course,” Vastra nods. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” Her gesture includes the tray that Jenny sets down before withdrawing to watch, unobserved, from across the parlor. 

Regina stops, shocked, before sitting. “That's it?” she asks, bemused, stores of fire clearly dissipating. “You're just going to help me get a divorce? No guilt, no shame?”

“It depends entirely on the circumstances you describe as to whether my associates and I will take your case, for of course we will not bend the facts,” Vastra explains politely. “I have found that assisting a woman gain separation from her husband is difficult enough without chiding her choices. But if you truly wish for moral condemnation, I suggest you hire a priest or a politician, not us.” She cocks her head at Regina with that calculated naivete that only one who has spent years attempting to master the nuances of an utterly foreign culture can manage.

“Ah,” Regina begins, fidgeting in her chair. “That may be difficult to do. Payment, that is. You see—”

“Begin at the beginning, I beg you,” Vastra interrupts her, the ghost of a smile at her lips from her joke. Jenny, out of sight, winces, but dutifully produces a pad of paper to make notes.

“David and I were so happy at the beginning,” Regina echoes distantly. “A perfect gentleman, you might say, despite his low birth. Utterly charming, polite—every meeting felt like a fairytale.”

“I presume that things changed?” Vastra prompts.

“Once we were married, and settled down after a few months, life seemed to become so stressful,” Regina continues. “I tried to be the best wife I could be—tended the house, gave him children—but eventually he would fly into a rage at the slightest provocation, then none at all. He would drink, and strike the servants. Many of them left, or refused to stay, no matter what we offered, for my husband is quite wealthy.”

“And then he struck you,” Vastra intuits. Regina looks at her, dumbstruck, as Jenny bows her head. “I have seen the patterns before. And your makeup is exceptionally thick, and your sleeves long, despite today's heat.” She had, in fact, been looking forward to basking in the greenhouse, but Regina's problem took precedence.

Regina nods. “He struck me,” she echoes. “He always apologizes, so sweetly, the next day. I stopped believing him after the third time.” Vastra winces. “I could almost bear it, for the children, you know. Very few are blessed enough to have happily married parents, but a divorce is a scandal.”

“What caused you to change your mind?” Vastra pries cautiously.

“He started up with another woman,” Regina says bitterly. She blushes. “Although, to be fair, since I've met William—he's from the States, you know, where it won't matter as much. Once we've moved there, I mean.” Her eyes light up with the closest thing to happiness Vastra has seen from Regina since their interview has begun. “He's not like David, I'm sure. And if he is,” she swallows hard, “then I suppose it will be easier the second time.” She flexes her fingers, finally balling her hands up with determination. “What do you think?”

Vastra sets down her teacup and temples her fingers. “It will be difficult for you to obtain a divorce,” she begins, “though not as difficult as it might have been fifty years ago. You can proceed in civil courts now, which are cheaper. You can retain your earnings and property, if you have any. And you may be awarded custody of your children. Bear in mind that, of course, I am not a solicitor.”

“Of course, of course,” Regina nods eagerly. “And I must keep my children.”

“Of course,” Vastra agrees. “You say that your husband has a mistress? Who is she?”

“I don't know,” Regina says, and Jenny's pencil stops scratching across the paper as confusion flickers across her face. “That is, I have never seen her, or them, for all I know. In fact, I have never seen him in the company of any woman. We have no female servants—and hardly any servants of any kind. His business associates are all men. He takes his meals either at home or at his club, which is open only to men as well. And he rarely goes anywhere else.” She sighs. “But I can smell it on him, a woman's scent, her...arousal.”

“Not her perfume?” Vastra asks.

“No,” Regina admits. Jenny nods and makes a notation. Could mean anything, or nothing.

“Continue.”

“That is the whole of it, Madame Vastra, I promise you.” She hesitates. “I shan't be able to pay you unless you are successful.”

Vastra inspects her, then nods. “Do not trouble yourself in that respect,” she says confidently. “I fear to say it, but it is useful that your husband beats you. You see, under the current law, a man may divorce for infidelity alone, but a woman must show some other sin as well.”

“I see.” Regina's face darkens.

“Shall I call Dr. Doyle?” Jenny asks. “To make a record of her injuries?”

“Yes, I think that will be advisable,” Vastra tells her, keeping up the fiction that Jenny needs her approval to act. Heaven forfend she treat her wife/servant as an equal. “Do you have someplace to stay for a few days on little notice?” Regina purses her lips, then nods. “It may be best for you to stay out of sight until we have concluded our investigation. But first, we shall need you to engage Miss Flint as your household maid. References can be provided if necessary; genuine references if you insist.” Regina bobs her head, bewildered. “And then we shall need to conduct a physical examination of your body.” Vastra coughs delicately. “To document your husband's mistreatment of you.”

“Of course, of course,” Regina says, distracted. She blinks, and looks up at Vastra. “Will you be there?”

“If you wish,” she says warmly.

“And it is quite necessary?”

“I am afraid so,” Vastra assures her gently.

“Right,” Regina says decisively, drawing herself up and out of her chair. “I have a divorce to obtain.”

***

Jenny watches as Regina leaves, then crosses the room, notepad in hand, to sit next to her wife. “I wonder if we're in a honeymoon phase like what she described.”

“Are you planning on beating your wife?” Vastra asks, eyelids fluttering innocently beneath her veil. “Or were you going to start with Strax?” she teases.

“Madame!” Jenny can't help but laugh, despite the subject. 

“In all sincerity, my dear, while we have not been married very long, we have cohabited for several years.” Vastra's nose wrinkles. “I am given to understand that contemporary humans do not engage in this practice, preferring to let a short series of public encounters and negotiations serve as a proxy for a lifetime of committed relationship.”

“It does sound a bit absurd when you put it that way,” Jenny agrees, who hadn't put any thought into what constituted a normal relationship since she had decided at age twelve that boys held no emotional excitement for her. “And I suppose the fact that one party holds all the power in the relationship doesn't help either.”

“Says the woman wearing a maid's uniform,” Vastra needles, laughing.

“I'll make you eat those words on the salle,” Jenny ripostes, elbowing Vastra playfully. The two women spring to their feet, mock-dueling across the parlor, Jenny with her pencil and Vastra with a spoon from the tea set. “We have time for a few touches before I need to fetch Dr. Doyle, haven't we?”

“I think we should always make time for touching,” Vastra coos playfully. 

***

Regina introduces Jenny to George, the only other servant in the house. “Lovely place you have here,” Jenny says, entirely truthfully. The home is handsome, gray stone just outside of town, old enough for its origins to be obscure, but recently refurbished with modern amenities. The latter project, Regina had confided to her, had sapped much of her family's fortune, necessitating a wealthy match for her as the only heir.

“I suppose,” George replies noncommittally. He's seen enough of us come and go not to care, she realizes. “Shall I show Miss Flint to her room, Ma'am?”

“Yes, George,” Regina replies. Jenny supposes to herself, not for the first time, that it really ought to be Mrs. Flint now, however that worked. “And then I shall want her assistance to pack for a short trip to visit my cousin, Fanny.” George nods, and Jenny tries to take in as much of the house as she can as she helps him carry her bags down the hall.

“Awful lot of house for not many people,” Jenny observes aloud.

“Bramstoke Hall used to be filled with hustle and bustle,” George recalls gloomily. “There's Pierre, the part-time cook, and Mr. Harcourt has friends over at times, though it's hardly the same. And it shall be worse still once Thomas, the eldest, goes off to school, for we certainly won't be able to attract a governess.” Jenny nods, and hums agreeably, deciding to let George ramble without prodding. “I might have hoped that Lady Bramstoke would have sold the old place, but what's done is done.” He comes to a stop outside an upstairs room. “Here you are, then. Door locks at night. Not that it'll do you any good if Mr. Harcourt has a mind to pay you a visit.” He shudders. “Good day, Miss Flint.”

She thanks him, and sets her bags down inside, giving the room a quick once-over for hidden passages or sliding panels. None, she decides. Mr. Harcourt must have the master keys, then. She smooths her apron with her hands, and walks briskly to Regina's room to help her pack. “I'm glad you decided to take a few days away,” she whispers, sorting through dresses and folding them into a trunk.

“It seemed like wise advice,” Regina admits. “And I haven't seen Fanny in ages!” She smiles, and Jenny cannot help but smile as well.

“Just don't forget to stop by Paternoster Row. And on no account visit William,” she cautions. “Best not to give your husband anything to work with once you go to trial.”

“I suppose you're right,” Regina admits.

“George said that David has friends over,” Jenny begins delicately. “Are there any I should pay special attention to?”

Regina's face clouds. “Mostly a harmless bunch of ne'er-do-wells,” she begins. “But Basil Merriweather is his chief confidant.” She shrugs. “Keep the drink flowing, and stay out of the way as much as you can, and they'll give you no trouble.”

“Thank you, Regina,” Jenny says quietly, and closes the trunk.

***

“Your latest client getting a divorce, then?” Doyle asks, as they wait for her to arrive.

“Yes,” Vastra confirms, then smirks. “I suppose Jenny and I will never have to worry about that,” she admits. “Such a mess that would be.”

“Yes,” Doyle says, mind elsewhere.

“And how is your wife?” Vastra asks incisively.

“Poorly,” Doyle replies with a shake of the head. “She seems to bounce from illness to health with startling regularity.” He sighs. “Sometimes I worry that we shall need to find a method of communicating beyond the grave sooner rather than later.” Vastra bows her head respectfully. “I am still troubled by my vision of the twisted future,” he confesses.

“As one who has traveled to the future and the past, I find that living in the present is often the best way to make sure the future takes care of itself,” Vastra philosophizes. The sound of the door closing, followed by footsteps, interrupts her train of thought. “That will be the young ones,” she observes.

***

“Remind me why I have to dress up as a boy?” Anaya groans as Henry sorts through the wardrobe for likely-looking pairs of trousers.

“Because we need two people to trail Harcourt into his men-only club,” Nellie explains. “And we need Dr. Doyle to handle the medical aspect of things, Strax can't do subtle to save his life, and I have curves.”

“And maybe Mirabelle will like the way you look in a shirt and tie,” Henry notes. “How are the two of you?”

“Well enough,” Anaya replies, wondering if she should ask about Nellie or not. Best not, she thinks. “Can't say we've been experimenting with fancy dress.” Her eyes twinkle as she shoos Henry out of the room, then peels off her clothes. “Let's get this over with, then,” she says to Nellie.

Under an hour later, Nellie comes downstairs with a fetching, faintly Mediterranean gentleman. “Call me Allen,” Anaya says with a surprisingly deep voice. “Voice modulator hidden under the cravat,” she says to Henry's surprise. “Shall we be off?”

***

“I do wish I could do something more active,” Vastra frets. “But I can hardly engage in subterfuge like this,” she says, gesturing to her Silurian features. “Just think, I was trained as a member of the special forces; sneaking and hiding are second nature to me, just as they are to your Sherlock Holmes.”

“Indeed,” Doyle replies, good humor restored and scientific curiosity engaged. “I find it difficult to imagine that I have yet to ask, but if your soldiers are chiefly women, doesn't that affect your rate of reproduction rather drastically?”

Vastra blinks. Ah yes, she recalls, humans with their nine month gestation, during which the female becomes progressively more helpless. “For one thing, while most soldiers are women, most women are not soldiers—my sister, for instance, is a poet. And those women, like myself, who do take up the defense of the tribe, will often leave a clutch of eggs behind to be fertilized and incubated at home.” She hasn't thought about Silurian breeding practices in years. She wonders, idly, if she should have arranged for the eggs she had stored to be fertilized. She had only made the deposit because so many of her sisters-in-arms had done so; she had known from a young age that she had had no interest in mating with a male in the traditional way, though there were methods one could use which did not entail such odious contact. She had given the matter very little thought, and then the hibernation order had come so suddenly... “Indeed, this practice permits us to maintain a greater range of genetic diversity than the human practice, where many of your males are slaughtered in combat without the chance to pass on genetic material.”

“Quite,” Doyle says. “Ah, here is Regina now.” They invite her further in. “Shall we begin the examination?”

“Please,” Regina says.

“You will need to remove your dress,” Vastra urges gently.

Regina pauses, then unfastens that garment, then continues until she is down to her chemise and drawers. She stops, and looks awkwardly at Doyle without seeing him. Doyle is about to say something when Vastra coughs. “Perhaps you could conduct most of the examination now, and then I could photograph her. In private.”

“Yes... yes, that will be fine,” Doyle says quickly, grasping the sensitive nature of the situation. “We will need documentary evidence, after all.” No need to commit a second assault without warrant, he decides, and puts on his kindest smile as he makes note of bruise and abrasion.

***

Anaya looks about the club for Harcourt as Henry steps away to get a different angle. Too late, she thinks, he's found me.

“I thought this was a gentleman's club,” Harcourt says snidely.

“You're hardly a gentleman yourself,” replies Anaya, but she catches his inflection and backs away a half-step, leaving herself a clear path to the door. And it's Allen, she thinks. Lord Allen Teppington, per the forged papers in her pocket. The insult draws a few laughs, but a scowling Harcourt presses the attack, Basil Merriweather at his side.

“Yes, yes, laugh at her joke,” and this time the crowd cannot fail to notice what he is suggesting. “Breasts bound up, I imagine. Bit of padding in the right places. But obviously a girl.” Anaya freezes, then makes a tactical decision: run! She turns and bolts, Harcourt and Merriweather's laughter in her ears. Better that than the mercy of a boorish mob, she decides, and meets Nellie a block away.

“What happened? Where's Henry?” Nellie asks her breathless companion.

“Harcourt sniffed me out,” she says raggedly. “Henry's fine.”

“What? But we did such a good job?”

“I know,” Anaya says grimly. 

“You don't think he's some kind of mind-reading alien, do you?”

“Not likely, or he'd have done something about Henry, too.” Still, anything was possible, she'd learned. “No, I think it's something much more terrestrial.” She pauses to catch her breath. “I got a look at his confidant, Merriweather—I think he is a she.”

Nellie's eyes widen before she nods. “And so he's used to thinking about women in drag! That would explain why they're always together, and why Regina never sees Harcourt with a mistress.”

“And why she could smell her, but not her perfume,” Anaya adds. It was a bizarre theory, but it seemed to hang together. “Come on, let's tell Jenny.”

***

Back in the club, Henry sidles to within earshot of Harcourt, slowly sipping his drink. “Come on, Merriweather,” he says suddenly. “Let's call it a day.” He stands and scans the crowd as Henry takes a quarter-step to one side to stay in Harcourt's blind spot. 

“Back home?” Basil suggests.

“I think so,” Harcourt agrees, draining his own drink and walking away. 

Henry makes a mental note of this, and follows them as nonchalantly as he can, keeping an eye on their carriage until it's out of sight, but clearly heading towards Bramstoke Hall. Best tell Vastra, he thinks.

***

Jenny, meanwhile, has far fewer eyes to evade as she dusts her way across the upstairs, searching for hidden passages. “Reminds me of home,” she mutters to herself. Working for the Rani had been one of the last times she had worked as a maid to earn her bread, though she still dons the disguise now and then. The house was sizable and the floor plan complex, but Jenny is methodical when she needs to be, and soon a panel gives way before her investigation. She grins and lights a gaslamp, holding it before her as she explores, a bag of equipment in her other hand.

***

Vastra and Doyle have just bid Regina adieu when Henry arrives. “What news?” Vastra asks. 

“Harcourt's heading home with a friend of his, Merriweather.”

“And what of Anaya?”

Henry shakes his head. “Harcourt outed her in minutes.”

“Interesting,” Vastra says, closing her eyes to think. “It suggests but does not prove that his paramour disguises herself as a man to avoid detection.”

“Awfully sneaky,” Henry mutters.

“You know, I'm never sure whether it is better this way, or if it would be best if one's affairs were conducted in public,” Vastra muses, not intentionally thinking of Doyle, who blanches slightly anyway. “Perhaps it would help me understand if you explained why a man may divorce his wife for adultery alone, Dr. Doyle.”

“I believe it has something to do with the usual line of inheritance, which passes from father to son.”

“Despite the fact that the mother, carrying the child, would be much easier to ascertain,” Vastra notes, rubbing her chin. “Go on.”

“There may also be a certain cultural force in favor of keeping a woman sexually pure and, well, controlled,” Doyle admits. “Said force may also tie into concerns about inheritance,” he adds, “as seen in the usual desire for a girl to be a virgin before she is married.”

“Hm... You may have a point,” Vastra notes, “as neither Jenny nor myself were... inexperienced... when we married, yet this fact posed no difficulty as we do not plan on reproducing.” Henry and Doyle both flush, and Henry gains three more shades of red as Vastra turns her next question to him. “On the other hand, Henry, you remain attracted to Nellie despite the fact that she has had previous lovers, do you not?” She blinks owlishly. “Was I impolite?” she asks after a few stunned seconds. 

“It's possible, madame,” Doyle informs her.

Vastra's crests flare, and she coughs. “My deepest apologies, Henry. I had thought—mistakenly--that if such a fact were obvious to me, then it was publicly known. Perhaps a better example might have been our client, who seems to have found a new lover despite being married herself.”

“Perhaps,” Henry manages. Oh, well, at least Nellie wasn't here.

***

Well, Jenny thinks, this is interesting. And certainly explains quite a bit. A large bed dominates the hidden chamber, but there are plenty of tables and chairs for Jenny to hide behind, and she takes up her camera inside a closet, perched on a pile of magazines filled with lascivious pictures. She stuffs one into her pouch. Purely as evidence, she thinks, just as the door opens.

Two men enter, to Jenny's slight surprise. Perhaps Mr. Harcourt has broader tastes than we had guessed, she thinks, just before the taller man unbuttons the shorter man's top to reveal a pair of bound-up female breasts. Kinky, she thinks, readying her camera. This isn't usually what people think of when you tell them that they have one shot and must make it count, she muses as the couple finishes disrobing. She waits until Harcourt is looking nearly at her, hand on his paramour's breast, to snap her shutter.

The flash blinds the lovers, and Jenny is off like a shot as they scream and pull their trousers back on. Now, she thinks, which way to go in this tangled old house?

***

Nellie and Anaya reach Bramstoke Hall just in time to hear muffled screams from within. “Those don't sound like Jenny,” Nellie notices, and peers into the window. “Jenny's in there, running like mad!” 

“If she's in trouble, she can handle herself,” Anaya says. “But she might like a way out,” she adds, grabbing Nellie's hand and leading her toward the stables. The horses and carriage are untended, and they prepare the carriage while chasing the other mounts out into the pasture. 

“That should settle that,” Nellie notes with satisfaction. “Now we just need to get her attention,” she notes, casting her eyes about for inspiration until they settle on a rock. With a grin, Nellie hurls it through the nearest window. The crash catches Jenny's ear, and she ducks under the butler's arms to sprint out the door and around to the carriage.

“Milady?” Anaya asks with a grin, still dressed as a man.

“My hero,” Jenny laughs, and every crack of the reins takes them closer to safety. 

***

“I am always glad to take one of these cases,” Vastra remarks, “but whenever we do, it saddens me to think about how slow the progress of the law is in these matters! Thirteen years to go from civil divorce to letting a married woman keep her earnings, and another thirteen to give her the chance to earn custody of her children!” she exclaims. “That is glacially slow, even by a Silurian's pace! I can only imagine waiting a third of one's life for such reforms.”

“I'll pencil this weekend's suffragist rally onto our calendars, then, madame?” Jenny asks knowingly. 

“Do,” Vastra spits with more venom than the question deserved. Her face falls. “My apologies, my sweet. I do get lathered up sometimes, don't I?”

“No need to apologize if you're mad in a good cause, madame,” Jenny says agreeably. She finishes annotating the large calendar which lies on her desk, and leans back, crossing her ankles on the edge of the desk, feeling like a proper businesswoman as she does. She could get used to this, she thinks.

“I am nearly as angry about this business with Clarence DeMarco,” Vastra continues. “It is a miracle, it seems, if the legal system accomplishes anything at this pace. It seems to be taking forever to bring him to trial!”

“Just last month you were all in favor of adding a criminal appeals system,” Jenny reminds her, “and urging the police not to rush to judgment.”

“Yes, yes,” Vastra agrees, somewhat petulantly, as Jenny laughs. “The laws are nearly enough to make one turn criminal oneself, you must admit.”

“Oh, don't blame the laws, love” Jenny says. “Blame the men who write them, if you must blame anyone. For one thing, we'd be out of business if there weren't any crimes to solve. For another, it is nice to have someone to turn to—for free—if you've been wronged.”

“True, true.” Vastra doesn't begrudge the point—she has seen enough people in despair who have turned to the law as their refuge. “Though I suppose if I am to blame the men who make the laws, I must, in turn, blame the men who elect them.”

“Rally starts at two,” Jenny reminds her. “And I suppose it beats a total monarchy.”

“You humans have so few modes of government at this stage of your development,” Vastra grouses. 

“When do you suppose it'll be legal for us to get married?” Jenny offers, only partially a non sequitur. “I mean, I know we've seen futures where it's happened, but the Doctor's never dropped us off at the moment in question, has he?”

“No, my dear, he has not.” Vastra rubs her hands together against the evening chill. “I doubt we shall see such a day in our lifetimes. Perhaps our children's, or theirs.”

“Are you thinking of children, madame?” Jenny asks, nearly losing her balance with astonishment.

“Not specifically,” she admits, “but there was something that Doyle said which made me think of it, and then Regina arrived and I was distracted, and gave the matter no more thought until just now.” She blinks. “Would you be interested in offspring, dearest?”

“I don't know.” Jenny shrugs, and before she can say anything else, a dark figure sweeps into the room. Without betraying her immense surprise, Jenny turns and sizes up the woman. “To whom do we owe the pleasure of the visit? Presumably not Basil Merriweather.” A glance at the calendar reminded her that it was Strax's evening off. 

The woman rolls her eyes. “Mary Wethersfield, if you must know. I've come for that photograph. You know which one.”

“I am afraid your request is impossible to comply with,” Vastra tells her, not blinking. “If it reassures you, we have no interest in blackmailing you.”

Mary rolls her eyes, and produces a pistol from the pocket of her trousers. “I shan't ask again.”

“No,” Vastra replies, tongue lashing out almost lazily, “you shan't.” She cocks the pistol and aims it at Mary's head. “I admit that I am generally disinclined to show mercy to those who come into my home and threaten me over trifles, but I have the suspicion that you may well be a victim in this case.” 

Jenny takes her cue, producing the report of Regina's injuries and testimony. “He's ever so charming to start with, isn't he? Woos you, buys you trinkets, tells you the most romantic things you can imagine. And then he snaps, and he hurts you. Any ribs cracked yet? How much makeup do you need to hide the bruises?” Mary's hand strays to her left cheek. Jenny looks at her imploringly. “I haven't been spying on you.” She tosses the other woman a copy of the report. “This is what his wife, Regina, told us. We've had a dozen divorce cases come through, just like this,” she adds with a shake of her head. “The wooing, the violence, the apology, over and over again.” Unconsciously, Mary nods.

“You know,” she says, “he isn't nearly good enough in bed for how he treats me.” She smiles grimly. “I can hardly go the courts given my fashion choices, but let me know if you need a witness at trial. I've a flat of my own.” She gives them the address.

Vastra beams. “I trust you shall not speak of this night to anyone?” Mary, still rattled at Vastra's tongue, nods. “Then I bid you good evening; perhaps we shall meet again under happier circumstances.” She turns to Jenny once Mary has left. “Well, that was resolved tidily.” She restores the safety on the gun and sets it aside for Strax's armory. “Shall we go to bed, my love?”

“Yes, I think so,” Jenny says, kissing Vastra on the cheek as they leave. She hesitates as they reach the door. “Were you saying something about children?”

“I was.” Vastra turns and looks straight at Jenny. “We are, of course, genetically incompatible. But adoption would always be an option.”

“Maybe later,” Jenny decides. She laughs. “Wouldn't it be something if we could interbreed?”

“I am sure they would be wonderful children,” Vastra agrees. “Especially if they took after you.”

“You're such a romantic,” Jenny teases, and they laugh all the way to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> There are discussions of domestic abuse and its aftermath, but not depictions. There is also one brief, not-very-graphic sex scene which features non-consensual voyeurism.
> 
> Nobody at all famous here, except unconsciously. Bramstoke Hall isn't meant to be a reference to the author of Dracula, I promise. 
> 
> British divorce law and female property ownership law undergo drastic changes in the 19th Century, more or less as described by Vastra, starting with the Matrimonial Causes Act of 1857.
> 
> I am making up Silurian breeding and mating habits out of whole cloth, in case anyone is curious. 
> 
> David Harcourt's relationships with both his wife and his mistress are both fairly standard abusive relationships. I expect things haven't changed much.
> 
> There are a few resonances with A Scandal in Bohemia (infidelity, photographic blackmail, female character marrying an American to flee the scene), but not so many as I'd call this an intentional homage.


End file.
